What Dreams May Come
by DeathValleyQueen
Summary: What is Chris doing in South Dakota, and what does Wesker have to do with it? Sequel to "Side Effects May Include..."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different, the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

Chris looked down at the sheet of paper in his hands, sighing as his lips settled into a scowl. Another string of bizarre murders. He was eerily reminded of the mansion incident, and he shook his head side to side, as if to shake the memories from his mind. It was impossible for the two things to be connected. Wesker was dead, and the threat of the T-virus had supposedly been eliminated years ago. Even so, the BSAA was sending him to South Dakota to investigate. Preliminary reports had only come up with several bodies, and nothing else. Chris didn't like the idea of blundering off into unfamiliar territory to deal with a situation nobody knew anything about.

The phone sitting on the desk in front of Chris began to ring, and he reached down to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Christopher Redfield?" asked a female voice.

"This is him," Chris replied.

"I have been instructed to-" the voice continued.

"Wait," said Chris, interrupting her. "What's your name?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," she replied. "As I was saying, HQ has instructed me to bring you up to speed on the case at hand. Please report to conference room two at noon."

"I'll be there," he told her. She hung up without another word. Chris wondered why HQ was being so secretive about the case. He knew a panic would break out if the public were to find out about the murders, but he thought they should be able to be more open with their own employees. Chris shrugged and looked down at his watch. _10:30?_ he thought to himself. _I've got some time to kill._

He spent the next hour and a half rereading the coroner's reports on the victims. Two women, and one man, all dead from exsanguination. He turned the page to look at the victims' tox screens. One of the women had been infected with the G-virus, but obviously not long enough for her to begin exhibiting its effects. The man and the other woman were infected with an unidentified contagion. _Wonderful._ Chris thought to himself. _Another B.O.W. case._ He looked down at his watch again, and decided it was time to meander down to conference room two.

When he reached the heavy double doors to the conference room, Chris couldn't decide whether he should knock first, or just walk in. After fighting with himself about it for a moment, Chris rapped his knuckles on the wood of the door and waited.

"Come in!" A voice called. Chris turned the knob and pushed the door open. As he walked into the room, he noticed it was completely empty, except for a tall, skinny brunette woman. She was drinking from a coffee cup, but put it down on the table and looked up at Chris as he approached her. "Are you Christopher?" she asked.

"Just 'Chris' is fine," he replied. He walked around to the other side of the table and sat down in the chair across from her. "Now that we've met," he began. "Could you tell me your name?" She sighed.

"I shouldn't…"

"Come on," said Chris. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Fine. Just between you and I, my name is Angela. Angela Fielding."

"Okay, Angela Fielding," said Chris. "What information do you have for me?" She looked down at the packet of papers on the table in front of her. Taking a few pieces of paper out of a folder, she fastened them together with a paperclip, and handed them across the table to Chris.

"Not much more than you already have," said Angela. "You'll be given equipment, and transportation to Pierre, South Dakota, and you'll be expected to gather as much information as you can, and remedy the situation," she told him.

"By myself?" he asked, not that the idea bothered him too much, as long as they gave him the proper equipment to deal with the situation. The last thing he needed was another Kijuju.

"The BSAA has the utmost confidence in you. Yourself and Miss Alomar eliminated the man who was about to release the biggest biohazard threat the world had ever seen," said Angela. Chris looked down at the table. He didn't want to think about Wesker.

"So, what does the BSAA want me to do?"

"I've told you already. Go to South Dakota, find out as much as you can, and remedy the situation." She handed Chris an envelope. "Here is your plane ticket. Your boarding pass is in there as well. I trust you'll know where to get the rest of the things you'll need." Chris took the envelope and papers she handed him.

"I do, thanks," he assured her. He stood up and offered her his hand. "And thanks for your help." She smiled.

"Just doing my job, Chris," she replied. He walked across the room to leave, but paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I just have one more question," said Chris.

"Shoot."

"Is the situation taking place in Pierre, or elsewhere?"

"Well, South Dakota is a very rural place. The closest airport to the place where you're headed is in Pierce."

"Understood. And thanks again," Chris told her, before leaving the room. He headed back to his desk and plunked himself down in his chair. As he flipped through the packet of papers Angela had given him, he put the envelope containing his plane ticket and boarding pass into the top drawer of his desk. The first piece of paper in the stack informed him that his actual destination was a small town just outside of Pierce. He wondered how the killings had stayed secret for more than a month in a town of not quite two thousand people. The paperwork in front of Chris informed him that he was leaving the next morning. That didn't leave him very much time to get the rest of his things together. _Oh well…_ he thought to himself. _It's not like it matters all that much._

When it was time for him to leave for the day, Chris took the envelope and his car keys out of his desk drawer before picking up the rest of his papers. He figured he'd head down to the armoury and pick up the weapons he'd be bringing with him. Thankfully, the BSAA would take care of all the security nonsense at the airports at both ends, making Chris' life easier. He would hate to have to try to explain his need to bring an entire arsenal with him on his "trip." He knew from past experience that airports could be quite a hassle, even without "questionable items" in his possession.

As he meandered down to the armoury, Chris made a mental list of the things he wanted to bring with him. Then he realised that he most likely wouldn't be able to take all of the things he wanted with him. First of all, he was only one man, and he could only carry so much. Second of all, there would only be a certain amount of equipment he would be allowed to take with him. When he reached the armoury, Chris greeted the man working in there, and gave him a very general rundown of the upcoming mission. The man asked Chris if he wanted any help getting the things he needed, but Chris declined, insisting he already knew what he had in mind.

Once Chris had chosen what he was going to bring with him, he packed everything up and headed home. He tossed his keys onto a table beside the front door before walking into the living room. He threw a few more things into the bag with the stuff he'd gotten from the armoury, and then wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. Once he'd finished eating, he went and changed into his pajamas before setting his alarm clock and climbed into bed.

The next morning, Chris got to the airport a little before 5:30, and wandered aimlessly while waiting for one of the security checkpoints to open. After what felt like forever, a tinny-sounding voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that the security checkpoint on the west end of the airport was open, and that flight number 126 was now boarding. Looking down at his boarding pass, Chris noticed that flight number 126 was the one that he was supposed to be on. He picked up his bag and headed down towards the west end of the airport. The officer at the security checkpoint was a little old lady with a prominent southern accent whose nametag said 'Greta.' He handed her his paperwork, and she examined it carefully. She glanced down at his driver's license, the up at his face, then back down at his license.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "Wally mentioned that the BSAA was sendin' somebody our way today. They sent all your information and stuff ahead of time. Must be somethin' really important. They usually leave their people to fend for themselves when it comes to airport security." Chris nodded, taking his paperwork back from her. He knew what it was like being left to fend for himself.

"Thank you," he told her, stuffing his papers back into his jacket pocket.

"You're welcome. And good luck," said Greta, smiling at him. Chris made a valiant attempt to turn the corners of his lips upwards, but it was no use. Looking down at his boarding pass, Chris headed down towards the gate that his flight would be leaving from. Once he reached the gate, he realised he still had some time to spare, so he sat down in one of the nearby chairs. Thankfully, a young woman in a stewardess' uniform soon appeared at the desk and called for anyone with a seat numbered one through fifteen on their paperwork to come forward. Chris looked down at his ticket and frowned slightly. Printed at the top of the piece of paper was the number 42.

It wasn't long before Chris was seated on the plane with his bag stored in the overhead compartment. He'd ended up sitting in an aisle seat, not that it made a difference to him either way. When the stewardess came to him while taking drink orders, he politely declined, and leaned his head back against the seat willing himself to be patient. After what seemed like forever, the captain's voice came over the loudspeaker informing everyone that they were about to take off, and that anyone who had not done so should take their seat.

**- To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different, the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

Chris wasn't sure at which point during the flight he'd fallen asleep. When the stewardess shook him, he mumbled something incoherently until he remembered where he was, and why he was there. He jumped up from the seat, smacking his head on the overhead compartment, and swore, massaging the back of his head. He took his bag down out of the overhead compartment, thanked the stewardess for waking him up, and headed off the plane with the rest of the passengers.

Once Chris had made his way into the main terminal of the airport, he fished around in his pockets until he found his paperwork. The place where he was headed for was seventeen miles from the airport. It was too far for him to walk, so he made his way out to the front of the airport and hailed a taxi. He was slightly surprised to find out that they were yellow, since that was stereotypically a city thing. After catching the attention of one of the drivers, he climbed into the taxi. The driver asked Chris where he wanted to go, and Chris gave him the name of the town, hoping the driver would know where he was going and not ask him for directions. Thankfully, the taxi driver was familiar with the town. He peered at Chris in the rear view mirror.

"Whatchu want to go there for?" he asked. It wasn't something that he was allowed to explain, and he wouldn't want to, even if he could. He shook his head.

"I can't tell you that," he said.

"No worries," the driver replied. "My name's Lenny."

"I'm Chris." Lenny put the car into gear and started off towards the highway.

Lenny chattered most of the way about his mother's sister who had been thrown in jail for a crime she didn't commit, and how her lawyer was an incompetent scumbag, and something else Chris couldn't remember, because his mind was elsewhere.

"Where in town you want me to drop you off?" Lenny asked, looking over his shoulder at Chris. Chris thought about it for a moment.

"The police station, please," he said.

"You got it," Lenny replied, turning on his left blinker. He swung the car into the parking lot of the police station. "Here we are." Chris fished his wallet out of his pocket and paid Lenny before getting out of the car.

"Thanks Lenny,"Chris said, closing the car door behind him. He tossed his bag onto his shoulder and made his way around to the front of the building. There was a sign above the front door that said 'Town of West Bancroft Police.' Chris tucked his papers into his pocket. "I guess this is the place..." he mumbled to himself. He opened the door and made his way into the corridor before walking down to what he presumed was the reception desk. A young blond woman was sitting behind the desk, typing something on a computer. She looked up as he approached her.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked. Chris felt awkward all of a sudden, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Yeah, uhm," Chris began. "I'm looking for a..." he paused as he began rummaging around in his pockets, trying to find a specific piece of paper. "...Sheriff Brooks?" the woman studied Chris' face for a moment.

"Are you the one that's here to investigate the killings?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm Chris." The woman nodded.

"My name is Katie," she said. "Take a seat and I'll let her know you're here.

_Her?_ Chris pondered, lowering himself into one of the wooden chairs lining the walls. A few moments later, a redheaded woman in a Smokey-the-bear-esque hat strode into the room. Katie sat up a little straighter and went back to what she had been typing when Chris arrived. The woman was wearing sunglasses, and Chris was unpleasantly reminded of Wesker. He shook his head side to side, as if to jolt the thought from his mind. Coming back to reality, Chris offered the woman his hand. "Hi, I'm Chris," he said.

"It's about time you got here," said the sheriff, shaking Chris' hand. "The name's Brooks. Grace Brooks. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I would rather it be under better circumstances."

"Agreed," said Chris. "Well, Sheriff Brooks, is there any more information you can give me before I set off on this wild goose chase?"

"First of all, call me Grace. Second of all, it's not a wild goose chase if you know where you're going," Grace told him.

"I don't know where I'm going, but I'd like to have somewhere to put this stuff," he said, nudging his bag with the toe of his shoe.

"Of course, of course. We'll stop on the way. There's a room all set for you at the inn." And with that, Grace took off down the corridor with Chris not far behind her. Once they were outside, she fished a set of keys out of her pocket and jiggled them around until she found the one she was looking for. She led Chris to a red pickup truck with police department plates. Frankly, he wasn't very surprised to find out that the truck was hers. She opened the driver's side door and got into the truck, reaching across to unlock the passenger door for Chris. He tossed his bag into the truck bed and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him.

"Now, where exactly is this inn?" he asked. Grace laughed.

"It's a small town, hun. You'll learn your way around soon enough." Chris wasn't sure which he liked less; being called 'hun,' or being there long enough to learn his way around. He didn't say anything, but focused his attention on the houses that went by outside the window and trying to keep his lips from settling into a pout. They reached the inn a few minutes later, and Chris was grateful, because he would be able to drop off his things and get to work. He was happier when he was working. Unless it was paperwork. Working kept his mind busy and out of places he didn't want it to go. "Well, here we are," said Grace, gesturing to an old Victorian-type house across the street. "I'll just wait for you. I'm sure you can handle yourself." Chris nodded and got out of the truck, removing his bag from the tuck bed, before heading across the street.

A pair of jingle bells tied to the inside doorknob clanked together as Chris opened the front door. He made his way through the foyer to a desk where a middle-aged man was sitting, reading a Stephen King book. He folded down the corner of the page and closed the book before looking up at Chris.

"Name?" the man asked. Chris gave the man his name and waited as he flipped through the pages of a green binder. "Can I see some identification?" Chris set his bag down on the floor, dug his wallet out of his pocket, and handed the man his driver's license. "That seems to be in order. Here's your room key," the man said, handing Chris a keyring with a single brass-coloured key on it. "Up the stairs, first door on your left; number seven." Chris thanked the man and made his way upstairs to to the door with a small black '7' painted on it at eye level. He stuck the key into the keyhole and tried to turn it. Nothing happened. He struggled with it for a few more seconds, resisting the sudden massive urge he had to kick the door as hard as he could. "You have to jiggle the doorknob a bit!" the man behind the counter called up the stairs.

"Thanks," Chris called back. He jiggled the doorknob with one hand and turned the key with the other. Once he was in the room, he tossed his bag onto the bed and affixed the drop-holster to his thigh before sliding his handgun into place. He stuck two spare magazines and his knife into one of his pants pockets, before leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Closing the front door behind him, Chris walked across the street to Grace's truck and got in.

"What took you so long?" said Grace. "I was about to call the Coast Guard." She laughed, but Chris couldn't bring himself to return her smile.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To talk to the families of the victims. They can probably give you information that's not in your reports." Chris nodded and turned his head to stare out the window. "First stop is Billy Upchurch. His wife Hilda was the first victim in this whole mess."

Less than five minutes later, Grace pulled into the driveway in front of a blue bi-level house. She turned the truck off, got out, and started up the stairs toward the front door without waiting for Chris. She had already rung the doorbell by the time he was standing next to her. A tiny blond girl, no older than four opened the door a few inches and stared up at them. Grace squatted down to her level.

"Laney, where's your Papa?" Grace asked. The girl rubbed her eye with one hand.

"He's upstairs." She looked up at Chris. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm-"

"This is my friend Chris," said Grace. "He's here to help me find out what happened to your Mama." The little girl nodded and opened the door the rest of the day.

"Okay," she said. "I'll go get Papa." She started up the stairs, and then returned a few moments later with a man in his mid-thirties with the same blond hair as her.

"Billy," Grace began. "This is Chris, and Chris, this is Billy." There were handshakes all around as introductions were made.

"Laney," Billy said, turning to his daughter. "Why don't you go upstairs and paint Papa a picture while I talk to these people, okay?" Laney nodded, and Billy reached down to ruffle her hair before she took off up the staircase. Billy turned to face Grace and Chris. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asked.

"I'll take some whiskey, if you've got it," said Grace. Chris gaped at her, and her lips settled into a scowl. She sighed. "Water will be fine." Billy looked over at Chris.

"Nothing for me, thanks," said Chris.

"Go ahead and take a seat in the living room, and I'll be right in with your water, Grace," Billy said. Grace walked past Chris into the living room, and Chris followed her. She flopped down on the couch on the left-hand side of the room. Chris considered sitting down on the other end of the same couch but opted, instead, to sit in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Billy reappeared a minute later with a blue glass. He handed the glass to Grace and sat down on the other end of the couch she was on. Nobody said anything for a few awkward moments until Chris broke the silence.

"Why don't you tell me what happened to your wife?" said Chris. Billy wrung his hands.

"I guess I should, shouldn't I?" he said quietly. "Well, it started about a week and a half ago. She told me she had a dream about being kidnapped, but that was the only part of it she could remember. After that, she wasn't herself anymore. She was paranoid and irritable all the time. And then, one morning, she just disappeared. She was there when we went to sleep the night before, but she was gone when I woke up the next morning," Billy told them.

"Didn't you try to find her?" Chris asked.

"Of course I did. When I couldn't find her, I went to Grace, but she told me there was nothing they could do until Hilda had been gone two days." Chris scowled. Those rules were nothing but counterproductive. "But, after she'd been missing two days, Grace put out an APB. They found her in the forest the next day," said Billy, staring intently at the floor. Grace reached out and put her hand on his knee.

"We're gonna get to the bottom of this," she told him. "Don't you worry." Right as she finished speaking, Laney walked into the room clutching a piece of paper. She toddled over to Billy and held out the piece of paper. He took it and looked at it for a moment. He turned the paper around. The paint was still wet and some of it dripped down the page.

"What's this, honey?" he asked, pointing to a blue blotch on the page. Laney put her hands on her hips.

"It's Mama!" she replied indignantly, as if he should know better.

"Oh, I see," Billy said. "She's wearing her blue nightgown. But what's this next to Mama?" he asked. It was a black blotch with a yellow blotch on top. The yellow paint was dripping down and mixing with the black. Laney looked at the floor.

"The thing that took Mama," she replied. Billy stared at her for a few seconds.

"You saw the person who took Mama?" he asked.

**- To be continued.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

"I know it was past bedtime, but I heard a noise and it woke me up. I got up and looked through the hole in the door where the key goes, and I saw the thing in the picture carrying Mama down the stairs," said Laney. Chris wondered why she hadn't said something sooner, but then he remembered that she was four and most likely concerned with getting in trouble for being up past her bedtime. "I went back to bed after that, I promise," she continued. Billy reached down to hug her.

"It's alright, honey," Billy said. "I'm not mad. Actually, that's going to help these people find out what happened to Mama." Laney's eyes went wide.

"Really?" she asked.

"Of course," Grace told her. Chris, however, wasn't convinced. He wasn't sure what the black and yellow blotch had to do with anything, but information was scarce, and he decided to keep it in mind regardless. Grace got up from the couch and offered Billy her hand. "Thanks for your help," she said, before turning to Laney. "And you too."

"Promise me you'll find out what really happened to her," said Billy.

"We'll keep you updated," Grace replied. Chris said nothing as he shook Billy's hand. As they made their way back to her truck, Grace looked up at the sky. "It's getting late. You should get some rest." Chris just looked at her.

"We have to keep moving on this, before another body shows up," he told her. Grace sighed and massaged her temples.

"You need to be on top of this, and that includes eating and sleeping like a normal person."

"Can we at least go talk to one more person?"

"Fine. Get in the truck," said Grace, sliding into the driver's seat without another word.

"Where are we going now?" Chris asked. Grace started the truck and backed out of the driveway.

"Her name is Loretta. Her son Eric was the second victim."

"What's her last name?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, a sudden edge becoming apparent in her voice.

"I was just curious.

"I know, but don't ask her about it. It's a touchy subject, and she doesn't need to be any more upset." Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the drive. Grace pulled the truck into the driveway of a small white house. She got out and started towards the front door without waiting for Chris. He sighed, exhaling frustration, and followed her.

A little old lady opened the door a few seconds after Grace had rung the doorbell. The woman stared at them for a moment, and then her face lit up. She reached up and grabbed Grace's face, kissing her on both cheeks.

"Gracie!" she exclaimed. "I was wondering when you were going to come and see me." Grace smiled slightly.

"It's not a social visit. Loretta, this is Chris," said Grace. "We're here to talk to you about Eric." Loretta's face fell.

"I thought you might be..." she said quietly. "Come in. I'll make some tea." She stepped back from the door so that Grace and Chris could walk in past her. After closing the door, she started down the hallway towards the kitchen. Grace sat down in one of the chairs next to the table, and Chris sat down across from her. "How do you like your tea?" Loretta asked.

"With two teaspoons of sugar, please," said Grace.

"Nothing for me," Chris said quietly.

"What's that, dear?" said Loretta.

"I said I don't want-" Grace reached across the table and smacked him upside the head when Loretta's back was turned. "What'd you do that for?" he demanded.

"Take it," Grace whispered.

"What?"

"Just take the damn tea, Chris." He sighed.

"Plain is fine," Chris said finally.

"Nothing in it?" Loretta asked, slightly surprised.

"Nothing in it," Chris repeated. Loretta returned a few minutes later with two floral-patterned mugs. She set one down on the table in front of Grace, and the other in front of Chris, before fetching a third for herself.

"Tell us about Eric," said Grace.

"He was only 28..." Loretta replied, her voice barely audible.

"What happened before he disappeared?"

"Well," Loretta began. "He was real sad. His girlfriend of four years had just broken up with him, and he wasn't sleeping well. The night before he disappeared, he had a really strange dream. I know because he called me when he woke up in the middle of the night. He presumably disappeared sometime after I got off the phone with him, because he was gone the next morning." After that, she spent a good ten minutes telling them about filing a missing persons report, and then having a panic attack when they found him. It was after ten before she looked at the clock that was hung on the wall next to the refrigerator. "Oh, my heavens!" Loretta exclaimed. "I've kept you too long." Grace shook her head.

"We need all the information we can get," said Grace.

"No, no," Loretta said, making dismissive gestures with her hands. "You two go and rest." Grace and Chris got up from the table.

"Thanks for your help," said Grace. Chris just nodded and shook Loretta's hand as she offered it to him.

When Chris got to his room at the inn, he immediately changed out of his clothes and climbed into bed. He wasn't sure exactly how long it took, but he eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Deep, however, was not synonymous with dreamless. Not long after he'd fallen asleep, Chris found himself back in the R.P.D. Something was wrong, though, because none of the corridors led where they were supposed to, and the people in the photos and paintings on the walls jeered at Chris as he walked past them, wandering aimlessly in circles. But he wasn't wandering aimlessly. He was on his way to Wesker's office, or at least he thought he was. As he walked through the squad room, he passed the wall full of "wanted" posters, and they were jeering at him as well.  
>"Failure," they chanted. "You're a failure, and a disgrace to the uniform." Chris charged across the room and started tearing the posters off the wall.<p>

"I'm not!" he shouted. "I'm not a failure." Even after he'd torn the posters to shreds, they were still mocking him.

"You failed to see that your superior was deceiving you, that he was deceiving everyone. You invited him into your bed. You let him fuck you. And you liked it," the posters continued. Chris had heard enough.

"My relationship with Wesker hasn't got dick shit to do with him and his egomaniacal bullshit!" Chris left the posters in shreds on the floor and took off across the room. As he got halfway to the other side, the floor tilted sharply, and he stumbled to his left down another corridor. When the floor finally righted itself, Chris found himself in a large conference room usually used for meetings with the police commissioner and other important officials. Just as Chris got to his feet, he heard footsteps from across the room. He looked up just in time to see a Licker amble into the room.

_ Shit…_ he thought to himself. He reached down to the drop-holster at his thigh, and was slightly surprised to find his handgun there, right where it belonged. He whipped the gun out of its holster and leveled it before shooting at the Licker. The first shot didn't kill it, and it gnashed its teeth as it moved closer to Chris. He shot it five or six more times before it finally died.

He didn't know why, but he had to find Wesker. No. He knew why. He needed answers. Chris turned on his heel and walked back the way he'd come in. Damned if he knew where anything was in this hellhole, but he knew he had to try. Several of the rooms he passed through seemed normal enough, but others had their furniture somehow attached to the wall or ceiling. Thankfully, he didn't run into any more Lickers or other unpleasant creatures. After several more minutes, he saw Wesker's office at the other end of the corridor. When he reached the end of the hallway, Chris sighed before rapping his knuckles on the wood of the door.

"Enter!" called a voice from within. Chris reached out to open the door, but as soon as his hand touched the doorknob, the scene shifted completely. He was back in his apartment, in his bed, writhing beneath Wesker. Chris' eyes went wide with surprise as the older man shifted inside him. Wesker's breathing was ragged against Chris' collarbone, and he lifted himself up and looked down at the younger man. Chris looked up into the blue of Wesker's eyes, and momentarily forgot everything that had happened. "I love you…" Wesker said quietly. With those three words, the reality of the whole situation came back, crashing down around Chris again. He shoved Wesker off of him, and the older man tumbled over the edge of the bed to the floor. "What is your major malfunction?" Wesker snapped, standing up and massaging his hip where it had collided with the floor. Chris was livid. He sprang off the bed and locked his hands around Wesker's throat.  
>"I could ask you the same thing," Chris snarled through gritted teeth, pressing down on Wesker's Adam's apple with his thumbs. An unpleasant gurgling noise made its way out of the blonde's throat. "What the FUCK were you thinking?" Chris pressed down harder with his thumbs. "And do you think-" But, before he could finish his sentence, the scene changed again. Chris' hands were no longer around Wesker's throat. He was in a helicopter hovering above a massive pit of lava with a rocket launcher in his hands.<p>

_No,_ he thought. _Not again..._ Chris hesitated as Sheva pulled the trigger of an identical rocket launcher. One wasn't enough.

"CHRIIIIIISSSSSS!" he heard Wesker shout, and then the helicopter was hurtling down into the volcano. Right as the front end of the helicopter made contact with the surface of the lava, Chris jolted awake, nearly falling out of bed in the process. He untangled his legs from the sheets and got up to head to the bathroom. As he walked past the table, he noticed that the little red light on his cell phone was blinking, so he walked over and flipped it open. There were two missed calls and a voicemail. He dialed his voicemail inbox, held the phone up to his ear, and waited.

**- To be continued. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

The voicemail and both missed calls were from Grace. Apparently, a fourth body had been found. A woman. She was also infected with the unknown contagion. Chris wondered why one of them had been infected with the G-virus, since he thought it had been eradicated with William Birkin's death. It didn't matter much, as this new infection was more dangerous, since no one knew anything about it. Chris deleted the voicemail, and then hit redial, waiting impatiently for Grace to pick up the phone.

_Pick up... Come on,_ Chris thought to himself. She picked up on the third ring.

"Chris?" she asked. "Where the hell are you? I've been sitting out here calling you for more than half an hour!" Chris sighed, scratching himself.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just... I'll be down in five." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it onto the table, frowning as it slid across the polished wooden surface and dropped to the floor. _Oh, whatever... _Five minutes later, he was in the passenger seat of Grace's truck, avoiding her eyes. His dream was still fresh in his mind, but the last thing he wanted to think about was Wesker. _More like a nightmare..._ he shut his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed lids.

"Are you gonna make it?" Grace asked.

"Yeah, I just- I'm fine," said Chris.

"You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

"I'm not lying," Chris insisted.

"Whatever. Who do you want to go see first; the family of the third victim, or of the one they found this morning?"

"The third I guess," Chris replied. Grace nodded and put the truck into drive before heading off down the road. "How far is it to this person's house?"

"His name is Clyde, and his wife was the one who was killed. Her name was Joann," said Grace, as she put on her left blinker and turned onto a street that ended in a cul-de-sac. She parked the truck on the street in front of a large blue house.

"Jeez, how many kids does this guy have?" Chris asked.

"Five." Grace got out of the truck and headed towards the front door.

"Why didn't you-"

"Don't worry about it. And let me do the talking, okay?" Chris nodded, frowning slightly. Grace rang the doorbell and stepped back a little bit, yanking Chris back with her. The door opened a few inches.

"What do you want?" a voice asked.

"Clyde," Grace began. "It's Grace. I need to talk to you about Joann." The door slammed shut.

"Go away!" Clyde snapped.

"But-"

"Now, Grace," Clyde said slowly. Chris heard the distinct sound of a round being chambered in a shotgun. Chris' hand went to the drop-holster at his thigh, but Grace grabbed his wrist.

"Let's just go," she whispered. Chris nodded, but drew his handgun anyway. "Put it away." Chris shook his head. Grace rolled her eyes and turned to talk back to the truck. Chris followed her, not turning his back to the door.

"You really think those kids are gonna be safe with him in that condition?" Chris asked as soon as they were back in the truck.

"They're not with him. They're with Joann's mother," Grace replied as she turned the engine on and swung the truck around, heading back the way they'd come. Chris stared out the window, and neither of them spoke. Grace drove for several minutes before pulling into the driveway of an average-sized white house with a big oak tree in the front yard.

"Names?" Chris asked.

"We're going to talk to Amanda Greene. Her sister Mary was the victim they found this morning. They weren't twins, but they might as well have been. That's how close they were. Now, don't shorten Amanda's name. She hates nicknames," Grace told him, turning off the truck and getting out. There was no neurotic man at the door with a shotgun. Amanda Greene was petite, blond, and no older than 21. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked up at Chris.

"If I woulda' known you were bringing somebody else with you, I woulda' changed out of my pajamas," Amanda said quietly.

"It's okay, dear. Amanda, this is Chris. We're trying to figure out what the hell is going on around here." Amanda nodded, tucking a chunk of her hair behind her ear before stepping back to let Grace and Chris through the door. Grace shut the door behind them, and Amanda led the way to the kitchen.

"Do you guys want anything to eat or drink?" When Grace and Chris declined, she sat down in one of the chairs next to the table and drew her knees up to her chest.

"Tell us what happened to Mary," Grace said, reaching out to place her hand on Amanda's arm. Amanda sniffled, and Chris was worried she was going to burst into tears. She didn't, however, and simply wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"Well," she began, in little more than a whisper. "It all started about a week ago..." Her story wasn't very different from all the others. Actually, it was almost identical to Billy's story, paranoia and all. When Amanda finished telling the story, Grace did something she hadn't done with any of the others.

"Is there anything we can do for you?" Grace asked. Chris stared at her for a few seconds.

"No," said Amanda. "I'll be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It'll take time, but I'll be okay." Grace nodded before getting up from the table.

"Thanks for your help," said Grace. For a moment, it looked as though Amanda was going to hug her. Instead, she stuck her hands in her sweatshirt pockets.

"Let me know if you find something out?" she asked.

"Of course," Grace told her before heading towards the front door with Chris not far behind her.

"Now what?" Chris asked when they were back in the truck.

"Does every minute of your day need to be planned?" Grace snapped. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "None of this is your fault."

"I just want to find out what the hell is going on around here."

"So do I," said Grace. "Are you hungry? I haven't eaten since yesterday." Chris turned to look at her.

"That's not a good thing."

"I know. There just hasn't been time," said Grace. She turned the truck on and headed back towards the center of town. "A diner alright with you?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Chris replied, and Grace turned into the parking lot of a small diner.

They didn't talk much as they waited for their food. Chris was unconsciously listening to a conversation going on three tables behind them. His ears perked up at the words 'nightmare' and 'kidnapped.' He tried to listen further to try to find out who had had the dream. It seemed like it was the man who was telling the story. Chris furrowed his eyebrows. That didn't fit with the other stories. How was the guy still alive? Chris wanted to go ask the man about the dream he had, but that would mean admitting to eavesdropping on the conversation, which could be a touchy subject. Their food had arrived by then, and the lack of conversation between Grace and Chris continued. After a few minutes, Chris set his fork down next to his plate.

"Grace," he began softly. She looked up at him. "I just heard a guy at a table somewhere behind me mention having a dream just like the one the victims had before they were killed, only he's still alive..." Grace's eyes widened slightly.

"Really?" she asked. Chris nodded. "Who was it?" She listened for a moment as Chris described the guy. "How'd you see him if he's behind you?"

"Does it matter?"

"No. I suppose it doesn't. Stay here. I'll go talk to him."

"How are you going to-"

"Don't worry about that. I'll be back." Chris shrugged and went back to eating. He was quickly discovering that, with Grace, it was best to just go along with whatever was happening and not ask questions. He had almost finished eating before Grace returned. She slid back into the booth across the table from Chris.

"What did you find out?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Well," Grace began, folding her hands. "You were right. The dream the guy had was identical to the one the victims had had. He also reported waking up with a sharp pain in his side. And-"

"A sharp...No. It can't be," Chris mumbled to himself.

"Something you'd like to share with the class?" Chris looked up to see Grace staring at him with a slightly perplexed look on her face.

"It's not... I just... Something happened to me several months ago, and- Well, I'm not sure whether it actually happened or not, but it involved a really strange dream and waking up with a sharp pain in my side," said Chris. Grace's eyes widened.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" she demanded. Chris looked away, not meeting her eyes.

"Because the man involved in the incident is dead."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. And no, I don't want to talk about it," said Chris. Grace frowned and looked down at her plate.

"Fine. You don't have to tell me the whole story, but in the future, if something is relevant, I'd appreciate it if you told me about it. We're on the same team here, and we have to work together if we want to figure anything out, okay?" Chris nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said quietly. They both looked up at the sound of a plate shattering.

"If I find out you're lying to me, we're gonna have problems!" shouted the man who had had the dream. The woman he had been sitting with stood up.

"I am not fucking lying!" she insisted.

"See? You're bullshitting me again!"

"I am not," she snarled. She grabbed her purse, gave him the finger, and left. The man sat back down at the table and covered his face with his hands.

"Somebody's paranoid..." Chris heard a waitress mumble as she walked by.

_Paranoid..._ he thought. _Just like Billy's wife._ He placed his silverware on his plate. "I think we should go," said Chris.

"I guess," Grace replied. They paid for their food, tipped their waitress, and left. When they were back in the truck, Chris didn't buckle his seat belt, and just looked over at Grace. "What?" she asked. Chris took a deep breath.

"About the man involved in the incident a few months ago that may or may not have happened, that wasn't the first time I came into contact with him," he said. A confused look spread across Grace's face.

"What do you mean?" Grace asked. Chris took another deep breath, and then proceeded to tell her about what had happened with Wesker between the end of the incident in the Antarctic facility, and the end of his mission in Kijuju. He left out the sex, and their shared past in S.T.A.R.S. Grace listened without speaking, and her eyes grew wider and wider as Chris got to the end of his story. Then he told her about being kidnapped and injected with something Wesker had told him was Uroboros, and then his attempts to find some way to reverse his infection, and Wesker's revelation that it was not actually Uroboros, and then waking up in his apartment. Again, he neglected to mention the sex. He decided it wasn't relevant. "That's ridiculous!" Grace exclaimed.

_Lady,_ Chris thought. _You don't know the half of it..._ "Yeah," he said. "I just figured I would tell you, not that it really matters anymore."

"It could be connected," said Grace.

"How? The guy's dead," Chris replied. Referring to Wesker as "the guy" was extremely weird to him. It made it seem as though Wesker was a stranger off the street, when that was the furthest thing from the truth. He felt a pang of some sort of regret. He hadn't wanted things to turn out the way they did. A defeated sigh made its way out of his throat. There was nothing he could do about it now. Grace reached up to scratch her head.

"You never know," she said. "Would you be very much against heading into the center of town to talk to some more people? Maybe there are others who have had the dream and lived to tell the tale." Chris shrugged.

"If you think it might help," he said. Grace stuck her keys in her pocket.

"Get out of the truck. The center of town is two streets that way," said Grace, pointing to somewhere on their left. And with that, she got out of the truck, and actually waited for Chris.

They found one other person in town who had had the dream just the previous night. Neither the paranoia, nor the sharp pain in the side seemed to have affected him yet. All of the other people they talked to just parroted back gossip they'd heard, or other tidbits of information that weren't really helpful, but Grace thanked them just the same. They spent a few hours talking to people, and didn't get back to Grace's truck until well after sundown.

"I think we should call it a night," said Grace. Chris looked down at his watch and scowled.

"But it's only-"

"Can it," she said. "I'll drop you off, and I want you to eat something and get some sleep."

"What happens when another body shows up?" Chris demanded.

"I don't think it will."

"Why not?"

"The last two people who had the dream are still alive, Chris," Grace told him. Chris' scowl deepened.

"Fine."

"And get up on time tomorrow, okay?"

By the time Grace dropped him off in front of the inn, Chris had decided he wasn't hungry. He may not have been hungry, but he was unusually tired. He glanced at the clock as he entered his room. It was only 10:30, but he figured that, if he was unusually tired, he should go to sleep. He tried very hard to keep his mind blank as he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take him.

**- To be continued.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

The next morning, Chris jolted awake and almost fell out of bed, just like the previous day. The dream he'd had was completely different, though, up until the end. It ended the same way as the other one had, with him hesitating with the rocket launcher in his hands, and the helicopter plummeting into the volcano. It had started innocuously enough. He had been in a pet store, looking to buy a gerbil for some unknown reason. The scene changed right as the girl in the store handed him the carrier. The scenes got progressively darker, until the dream reached the part with the helicopter.

Chris frowned as he headed down the stairs towards the lobby. The last part of the dream unnerved him. It hadn't happened that way. He hadn't hesitated with the rocket launcher. He'd-

_No_, he thought, shaking his head side to side. _Not going down that road._ It was no use dwelling on the past, or his dreams. He walked out onto the sidewalk to wait for Grace.

"I got a phone call around seven this morning," she told him as soon as he climbed into the truck a few minutes later. Chris' heart sank.

"Another body?" he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief as Grace shook her head.

"No," she began. "Amanda Greene had the nightmare last night, only she noticed something none of the others had."

"And what's that?" Chris asked.

"Eyes. Very bright eyes."

"Bright like what? A colour? A light bulb?"

"Calm yourself," said Grace reaching over to place her hand on Chris' shoulder. "She said they were bright, as in a bright colour. She couldn't remember exactly what colour, though."

"Can we go talk to her?"

"She's pretty badly shaken up. I mean, her sister died, sometime yesterday, after having the exact same dream. I took her to the hospital, and the sedated her. She should be lucid again by now, though. You have to promise me you won't upset her," said Grace, her expression suddenly deadly serious.

"I promise."

"Okay. And keep your ears open. Chances are, she wasn't the only one who had that dream last night."

The drive to the hospital was longer than any of the other trips had been, since the hospital was at the other end of town. It was a massive brick building at the top of a hill. Grace parked the truck, and they headed into the hospital. The nurse sitting behind the front desk looked up as they walked in.

"Hello Grace," she said.

"Hi Mrs. Sanders. Is Amanda Greene awake yet?"

"She woke up about ten minutes ago."

"We need to talk to her."

"But I thought you did before you brought her in," said Mrs. Sanders.

"I know that. But, we think she might have some more information."

"Fine. You can go, but the gentleman who arrived with you needs to fill out a visitor's form."

"He's not someone you need to worry about. He's here investigating the string of murders that has been happening." The nurse studied Chris' face intently for a few seconds.

"If you were anybody other than the sheriff, Grace..."

"I know. But he's already promised me he won't upset her." Mrs. Sanders frowned slightly before returning to her paperwork. Grace started down a hallway to their right. "Come on, Chris," she said. He stuck his hands into his pockets and followed her. She paused outside room number eleven, and rapped her knuckles on the door twice.

"Come in," a voice called softly. Grace turned the knob and slowly opened the door. "Grace," Amanda began. "You're back."

"Yeah," Grace said, nodding slightly. "I need you to tell Chris what you told me on the phone this morning." Amanda's eyes widened.

"Couldn't you?"

"He needs to hear it from you." Amanda looked at the floor.

"Fine," she said. "It was almost identical to the one my sister had, except for the eyes."

"What did they look like?" Chris asked hurriedly. Grace frowned at him. "Take your time," he added.

"There was something wrong about them. The problem is, I don't remember what colour they were..."

"That's okay," said Grace, reaching forward to tuck a chunk of Amanda's hair behind her ear. "You're giving us one more piece of the puzzle."

"I just remembered something else!" Amanda exclaimed.

"What is it?" Chris asked.

"An arm," said Amanda. "It was the arm that grabbed me. There was an arm with a great big scar that went from the elbow to the wrist, and then a cobblestone sidewalk, and lots of trees. Then I woke up."

"A cobblestone... Where is there a place with a cobblestone sidewalk around here?" Chris asked.

"There... There isn't," said Grace.

"Hey!" Amanda snapped. "I know what I saw." She paused for a moment, and seemed to collect herself. "I think you should go," she said, finally.

"We will," said Grace, heading for the door. "I want you to know, that's a big piece of the puzzle you gave us." Amanda said nothing. "Let's go, Chris," Grace continued. Chris nodded and followed her into the hallway, closing the door behind him. "I honestly don't know where there is a house with a cobblestone sidewalk around here... Or anything else with a cobblestone sidewalk, for that matter," Grace said as they walked out of the hospital and headed for her truck.

"She also mentioned a lot of trees. Maybe it's something to do with the forest," Chris suggested, climbing into the passenger seat. There weren't a whole lot of forest areas in South Dakota, so it would narrow their search area down a lot.

"That's a good idea, Chris. Only trouble is, I've been through there a hundred times. There are no buildings in that forest, much less houses with cobblestone sidewalks," Grace replied, chewing on one of her fingernails as she flipped on her left blinker. Just then, her cell phone began to ring, and she pulled over and dug around in her pockets looking for it. "Hello?" she said, pausing to listen to whomever was on the other end. "Oh, you're kidding. How in the hell could that have happened? I know. I know it's not your fault. Thank you for calling me." She flipped the phone shut and threw it onto the dashboard. "Goddammit!" she exclaimed. Chris gaped at her.

"Amanda Greene just disappeared from the hospital." Chris' jaw dropped.

"What? We were just talking to her!"

"I know that. Nobody knows what happened to her. The rest of the police department is on it. We need to stick with what we were doing."

"Could we go take a look in the forest? I know you say there's nothing in there, but I think it's worth a look," said Chris. He understood that they needed to keep working on the case, but he also wanted to help search for Amanda.

"I guess so, since that's the only thing we have that even faintly resembles a lead," Grace replied. She put the truck into gear and pulled back onto the road.

"How far is it from here?"

"The other end of town. Shouldn't take too long, though." About ten minutes later, Grace parked her truck in the parking lot next to a small hardware store. She went inside to let the shopkeeper know. "We'll have to walk from here," she told Chris after she came out of the store.

"That's not a problem," he replied. Grace led him through the yard between two houses to the edge of the woods.

"We'll be okay, as long as we're out before sundown," said Grace.

"Why?"

"It gets awful dark in there after the sun goes down." Chris nodded and then stepped forward to duck under a tree branch. The forest was thicker than he'd anticipated, and there wasn't a distinct path cutting through. In the back of his mind, he hoped Grace knew her way around. He listened intently to the forest around the, straining his ears for anything out of the ordinary, and a twig snapped somewhere on their right. Chris drew his handgun as they moved closer to the place the sound had come from. There was nothing there, but something else caught Chris' eye.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing somewhere off to their right. Grace turned to look in the direction he was pointing.

"I'm not sure..." she replied. Chris couldn't really see what it was from where they were. "Let's move closer," Grace suggested. But I have a bad feeling about this, so don't let your guard down." And then Chris felt it too; a faint gnawing sensation in the put of his stomach. Whatever they were walking towards, there was something wrong about it. As they drew closer, Grace's jaw dropped.

"Is that-" Chris began.

"It can't be..." Grace whispered. But it was. It was a cement building, not much larger than a two-car garage... with a cobblestone sidewalk in front. "We have to get in there and get to the bottom of this," Grace whispered.

"What happened to having a bad feeling about it?" Chris asked her.

"That feeling is still there, but this is more important." Outwardly, Chris agreed with her, but the gnawing feeling in his stomach only intensified. As they moved closer to the building, he felt a twinge of pain in his left side, and flinched. "Are you okay?" Grace asked. The pain faded as suddenly as it had appeared.

"It's nothing," he told her. "I'm fine."

"If you say so. Come on." Grace began to move closer to the building. Neither of them noticed what had crept up behind them. Chris, however, noticed when it attacked him from the side. Caught by surprise, Chris swore as he was knocked to the ground. Whatever had attacked him appeared to be human, but wasn't trying to bite him, leading him to believe that it wasn't a zombie. Grace yanked Chris' attacker off of him.

"I don't believe this!" She exclaimed.

"What?" Chris replied, trying to catch his breath.

"It's Amanda."

"What?" Chris sat up, and sure enough, there was Amanda, in a torn-up hospital gown, snarling as she fought against the arm bar Grace had put her in.

"Amanda!" Grace shouted. "Snap out of it!" A few seconds later, Grace gave up trying to reason with Amanda, and fastened her wrists together behind her back with a pair of handcuffs. "We have to take her back to the hospital." Chris agreed, but they soon found out that it was easier said than done. Amanda fought them all the way, and it was dark before they got her back to the hospital. Mrs. Sanders nearly had a heart attack when Grace and Chris pulled Amanda into the lobby.

"Where did you find her?" Mrs. Sanders asked.

"Long story, but we don't know what the hell is wrong with her. She needs to be sedated again before she hurts herself or someone else." Two nurses materialised, seemingly out of nowhere, and one of them injected Amanda with a healthy dose of sedative. They placed her on a gurney and carted her away.

"Thank you for bringing her back," said Mrs. Sanders.

"What else were we supposed to do?" Grace asked. Mrs. Sanders shrugged, and then turned and walked in the direction the other nurses had taken Amanda.

"Now what?" Chris wondered aloud.

"I don't know..." Grace whispered, scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor, leaving a black scuff mark. "We obviously have to go back there, but tonight isn't the time."

"But-"

"No. We'd be wandering around in a place we know nothing about, in the dark."

"Fine. But first thing in the morning, okay?" said Chris. "Not that I'll be able to sleep."

"You have to at least try."

They were silent the whole ride back to the inn. It wasn't until Chris was in his room that he realised how tired he was. He was physically tired, but he knew his mind was far too occupied for him to fall asleep. However, he climbed into bed and flipped the lights off anyway.

**- To be continued.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I apologise for the delay in updates. I just hadn't gotten a chance to put this chapter up until now. But, as usual,** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title. **

When Grace attempted to phone Chris the next morning, his cell phone went straight to voicemail all four times. An hour after he was supposed to meet her, she got out of the truck and walked across the street into the inn.

"What room is Chris Redfield staying in?" she asked the man behind the front desk.

"Redfield..." he mumbled to himself as he flipped through his binder. "Room seven," he said after a few seconds, pointing to the staircase. Grace thanked him and headed up the stairs. She found room seven, knocked on the door, and waited. After about half a minute passed, she knocked again. Still no answer.

"Chris?" she called. "Are you alive in there?" Still nothing. She headed back down to the lobby. "You got an extra key?" she asked the man behind the desk. He looked up at her and put down the book he was reading before rummaging through his pockets.

"Here's the master key," he said, handing Grace his keychain over the desk.

"Thanks," she replied. "I'll bring it right back." The man nodded and went back to reading his book. Grace was able to open the door without having to be told to jiggle the doorknob. The first thing Grace noticed was that the bed was empty, and neither the bathroom nor the kitchen were occupied. _Dammit,_ she thought before taking a closer look around. There were no signs of a struggle, but also no sign of Chris. His cell phone was on the table in two pieces. She wasn't about to panic right away, so she made a few phone calls, asking most of the people that she and Chris had talked to whether they knew where he was. Now she was starting to panic a little. She left the room, locking the door behind her and returning the key to the man behind the desk. "Thanks," she said quickly, hurrying out the door. Once she was back in her truck, she clamped her hands around the steering wheel and tried to decide what to do.

When Grace and Chris had found Amanda, the rest of the police force had called off the search. Grace wasn't looking forward to telling them they had to set off on another wild goose chase. While the other police officers were looking for Chris, Grace decided to go and look in the building in the woods. She didn't know why, but she felt it was connected; to Amanda, to Chris, to everything. As she drove towards the edge of town, it was hard for her to resist the urge to coax more speed out of the truck than it was comfortable with.

Grace pulled into the parking lot of the hardware store, and hurried through the yard between the two nearby houses to the edge of the woods. She drew her gun from where it was concealed at her waist. She didn't usually carry it around in her hands, but the bad feelings she'd had about the building had increased exponentially. As she ran through the forest, ducking tree branches and hopping over roots, Grace's mind was whirling away at a hundred miles an hour. All of the worst case scenarios kept crossing her mind, even though she tried to avoid it. She was slightly out of breath as she approached the grey building. It suddenly, it seemed threatening and ominous-looking, but she took a deep breath and crept closer anyway. The windows were small and slightly above eye level, so Grace strained a little bit, trying to look inside.

From what she could see, the inside of the building looked like something one might expect to see in a small office. Grace furrowed her eyebrows. An office in the middle of the woods? She shook her head slightly as she walked around the side of the building to the front door. She tried the door and was more than a little surprised to discover that it was unlocked. Grace hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, wondering whether or not going in there by herself was a good idea.

_It's not like I really have a choice..._ she thought to herself as she opened the door. The interior of the building wasn't any different than it had looked from the outside. She quickly took a closer look around the room, trying her best to take in as much information as she could in a short amount of time. There was no way to tell when the building's owner would return, and Grace didn't want to be there when he or she got back. Nothing she found was helpful, so she left feeling more dejected and worried than when she had arrived. She walked back to her truck and drove to the police station to regroup.  
>-<p>

When Chris woke up, he had no idea where he was, and he squinted as he looked up at the ceiling. He realised that he was lying on a gurney and sat up, wincing as he felt a twinge of pain in his side. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the same blinding shade of white, and the room was lit by two rows of harsh fluorescent lights. The second thing he noticed was that there were no windows. His gun, knife, and extra magazines were gone.

_Shit,_ he thought, massaging his temples. _Where the hell am I?_ He suddenly got up off of the bed and walked across the room, but he had no idea why. There was nothing over there. _Weird..._ he thought. His next thought was to try to find a way out of the room. There was a door, but he could almost guarantee it was locked. But he still found himself walking over to the door. _Oh, whatever._ Chris reached out to try to open the door, and was extremely surprised to discover that it was unlocked. He opened the door and poked his head out into the hallway to make sure that no one was there. Satisfied that the hallway was deserted, Chris walked out into the corridor, and debated which way to go. Something decided for him, however, and he turned to his right to walk down the hallway.

As Chris made his way down the corridor, he passed several doors that were identical to that of the room he had woken up in. The rest of them, however, were locked. He didn't let it bother him, and he just kept walking. Truthfully, he had no idea where he was or where he was going, but for some reason, he felt like he did. However, he also felt like he wasn't consciously deciding where to go. It was as if there was something else that as prompting him to walk wherever it is he was going. It unnerved him, more than a little, that he wasn't completely in control of his body. He soon found himself in front of a door that was exactly the same as the others, and he wondered why he had walked there. Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer, he shrugged, and reached out to open the door. At first glace, the room Chris had entered was no different than the one in which he had woken up. It took a moment for him to notice that there was a wall of computer monitors at the other end of the room. There was a tall black office chair in front of the monitors with its back to Chris. Whomever was sitting in the chair must have heard Chris enter the room, but made no move to acknowledge him. Chris could hear the faint clicking of a keyboard as he crept closer to the other side of the room. In the back of his mind, he wondered why he was trying to be sneaky when his presence was already known. He also wondered why the person in the chair hadn't acknowledged him. When Chris was only a few feet from the chair, the clicking stopped, and the person turned to face him.

Chris couldn't believe his eyes. Sitting in the chair was a dead man. But he wasn't dead, and Chris' brain had trouble processing what he was seeing. Sitting in the chair, looking as smug as ever, was Wesker. All of a sudden, Chris was feeling a hundred things at once. He wanted to kiss Wesker, and he wanted to throttle Wesker. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to laugh; all at the same time. He did none of these, however, and stood motionless, gaping open-mouthed at Wesker. A smirk spread across the blonde's lips, just as Chris regained the power of speech, sort of.

"But... But you... How?" he spluttered. He soon abandoned the idea of trying to speak and simply launched himself at Wesker. He didn't get very far, because he discovered he was no longer in control of his limbs. His brain was telling his legs to move, but nothing was happening. His mouth, however, was still working. "What the FUCK did you do to me?" he snarled.

"I would think even you could remember something that happened six months ago, Christopher," said Wesker.

_Six months ago?_ Chris thought to himself. _That means... No,_ "...that was a dream," he whispered. Wesker laughed.

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

"You mean..."

"That was no dream. While the substance I injected you with was not Uroboros, I can assure you, everything else was real," said Wesker. His smirk widened as Chris' jaw dropped. "Everything." Chris had been quite happy telling himself that that whole situation had never happened. He'd been secure in telling himself that he hadn't given in to whatever remnants of his feelings for Wesker had still existed at that point. However, the details all came rushing back to him with Wesker's confirmation that the events had actually taken place. He remembered waking up in that laboratory, and being injected with some unknown liquid, along with touching Wesker, and letting Wesker touch him, and trying to figure out what the hell had happened to him, and having sex with Wesker, and that sound Wesker had made, and-

_No,_ Chris thought to himself. _Not going back down that road._ A fairly large portion of him couldn't believe he could still think of Wesker that way, after everything that had happened. Chris tried to process what he had just been told, and Wesker folded his arms, staring impatiently at the bewildered man in front of him. It was then that Chris noticed the scars. Spanning from Wesker's elbows to his wrists were a series of long, crooked scars. On his right arm, it looked as though the scars extended up past his elbow, but Chris couldn't tell, because of his shirt sleeves. Chris wondered, momentarily, where the scars had come from, until he remembered Wesker's transformation via Uroboros. His next thought was to wonder who had put Wesker's arms back together, and how they had done so. Wesker knew what Chris was looking at, but he didn't let it bother him. If anything, they just went to show how he had cheated death yet again.

"I'd love to stay and chat and allow you to continue to gawk at me like a lovestruck schoolgirl, but I have work to do," Wesker drawled, unfolding his arms to look at his watch. Chris' lips settled into a scowl as he felt another urge to launch himself at Wesker, but he still couldn't get his body to obey his mind.

"What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded a second time.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," said Wesker, not meeting Chris' eyes.

"Bullshit!" Wesker said nothing, but rolled his eyes and pulled something out of his pocket. It was some sort of electronic device. Wesker did something with the device that Chris couldn't see, but he soon found himself face-to-face with his former captain. His eyes were drawn to the man's lips for a fraction of a second, before he caught himself. For the life of him, he still couldn't figure out how in the hell he could even consider thinking about Wesker that way. Wesker was now even further from the man Chris had once thought he was. Even further than he had been six months ago. He was even less human. A million and one questions were buzzing around in Chris' head. Some, however, were more prominent than others. He wanted to know how Wesker was still alive, and he wanted to know what Wesker's latest plan was in his neverending search for global conquest. When the incident had occurred six months prior, he'd known almost nothing about Uroboros, but now that he'd seen its destructive power, he shuddered to think about what Wesker's latest plan entailed. Whatever his plan was, Chris was sure it had something to do with the substance he had been injected with. He needed to find out more. _It's a good thing Wesker likes to hear himself talk,_ Chris thought. He realised that Wesker was still staring at him, and that he was still unable to move. He narrowed his eyes. "Why can't I move?" Wesker smirked again.

"As much as I'd love to explain it to you, I really do have things that need to be done," said Wesker. Chris discovered that, for some reason, he could now move his arms, so he folded them and glared at Wesker. Wesker frowned and fiddled with the device in his hands again.

_Whatever the hell is going on, that thing has something to do with it,_ Chris thought, staring at the device for a few seconds. Another smirk spread across Wesker's lips as he could practically see the wheels spinning in Chris' head.

"I believe it is time for you to go back to your room, Christopher," said Wesker. And with that, Chris found himself heading back to the room he'd woken up in. Once he was back in the room, the electric locks on the door engaged, and he regained control of his limbs. He strode across the room and sat down in a chair, trying to get his poor brain to process everything that had just happened. The fact that Wesker was alive wasn't the most difficult thing to comprehend. The man was evil, and infected with more viruses than he himself could probably remember. Plus, he was one of the most stubborn bastards Chris had ever met. He found the loss of control over his body much more unsettling. The fact that he'd had two half-sexual thoughts about Wesker disturbed him quite a bit as well. It was beyond him how he could even consider thinking about Wesker like that anymore. It was then that he realised that, even though he'd tried to bury and deny it, he still felt something for Wesker. He wondered momentarily if Wesker was still capable of feeling emotions, or if he had ever been, before trying to convince himself that he didn't care. Wesker's seemingly newfound ability to control others' bodies was also a pressing concern.

_There has to be a way out of this..._ Chris though, covering his face with his hands. He resolved to find it, no matter what it might be. _I have to find a way to fix this._ He would be operating completely alone in trying to solve the problem, since he had no contact with the outside world, and he just hoped he could do it.

**- To be continued.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

While Chris was out of the room the next day, the gurney had been replaced with a bed. Even though he would much rather sleep in a bed, the idea of being there long enough to need it didn't appeal to him in the slightest. The problem was that he had no idea where to begin in terms of finding an answer. He also wondered what Grace had done when she found out he was gone, on top of wondering exactly how long he'd been gone. His internal clock was all screwed up, since there were neither windows nor a clock in "his" room. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach led him to believe he was underground. Other than that, however, he had no idea where he was.

In actuality, he'd been gone for four days. For Grace, those four days had consisted of a wild goose chase and a lack of sleep. From where she was standing, Chris had simply disappeared into thin air. She was not looking forward to contacting the BSAA and telling them she had no idea where Chris was, but she didn't see any other option. More than one thorough and complete search had turned up nothing. She hadn't been back to the building in the woods, but she still felt that it was connected somehow. A defeated sigh escaped her lips as she picked up the phone.

After the better part of an hour, Grace got off the phone, feeling only a little bit better about the situation. The BSAA was going to send another person to help in the search for Chris, and in the resolution of the whole situation after he was found. They'd given Grace a name and a date on which the person would arrive. She hoped that the extra assistance would be enough to find some answers. The more time went by, the more Grace began to worry about Chris. Thankfully, the date she had been given was the next day.

The next morning, Katie was sitting at her desk in the police station when she heard the door open. She didn't look up until the person had reached her.

"Hi, can I help you?" Katie asked.

"Yeah, actually. I'm Jill," the woman replied. "I'm looking for Grace Brooks." Katie nodded and picked up the phone on the desk in front of her.

"Grace," she began. "There's someone here to see you." Jill took a step back and tried to avoid feeling awkward. Grace strode out of her office and approached Jill.

"Hi, I'm Grace Brooks," she said, offering Jill her hand.

"Jill Valentine. Nice to meet you," Jill replied.

"Likewise. I just wish it was under better circumstances."

Over the next hour or so, Grace explained the general rundown of what had happened since Chris' arrival. When she finished with the short version of the story, she began to go into greater detail. She sincerely hoped that Jill would be able to help.

"These conversations you and Chris had with the victims' families; did you write them down?" Jill asked. Grace nodded.

"Yeah, let me print them out for you." Jill slumped a little in her chair and looked at the floor. She was already worried about Chris. She knew he could handle himself, but she also knew he was human, and had his limits. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to let herself think anything bad had happened to him. Jill cracked her knuckles and tried to be patient as she waited for Grace to return with the papers. "Printer's pitching a fit," Grace called across the room, gesturing to a printer that looked like it was at least ten years old, before striking it with her fist. Jill said nothing, but folded her hands and stared down at her shoes. She didn't want to ask Grace to hurry up with the papers, because it would make her seem rude, but she felt like they were wasting time when they could be looking for Chris. She knew several searches had been conducted and had come up empty. However, she wanted to have been involved, because she thought she could have been helpful, since she knew Chris so well. A few minutes later, Grace returned, handing Jill a packet of papers that were stapled together in the upper right hand corner.

"I'm just going to read through this right now if you don't mind," said Jill.

"No worries," Grace replied. "That's what they're there for." Jill crossed her legs and began reading through the papers. Something about the description of the little girl's picture rubbed her the wrong way.

"Grace, do you have this little girl's picture?I'd like to look at it," Jill asked.

"Yeah, hold on. It's on my desk." Ash she took the picture from Grace, Jill narrowed her eyes. The black and yellow blotch was connected somehow. She couldn't quite figure it out, but if that's what the little girl said abducted her mother, then it had to be important somehow. Jill decided to keep it in mind. She reread that part of Grace's notes a second time, looking for anything she might have missed. Nothing else really stuck out. However, she did wonder how the woman's kidnapper had snatched her out of the bed she shared with her husband without anyone noticing, other than the girl. Jill was so deep in thought that she didn't notice that Grace had asked her a question until she looked up to find the woman staring at her expectantly

"I'm sorry," Jill began. "What were you asking?" Grace sighed.

"I asked if you thought of something. You just sort of... disappeared mentally."

"I was just wondering how the person who kidnapped Billy's wife was able to take her from their bed without waking Billy," said Jill.

"That is a little strange, isn't it? Especially since they have one of those security systems. I guess it doesn't really matter now."

"Can you take me to that building in the woods?"

"Why? I've been through there."

"Please?"

"I guess so," said Grace. "Come on,it shouldn't be too long a drive." Jill didn't reply, but stood up and waited for Grace to lead the way. Grace may have looked through the things in that building, but Jill wanted to see for herself. She told herself she was sure she'd be able to find something. Jill wasn't surprised to discover that the red pickup truck she'd seen on the way in belonged to Grace. She suppressed a laugh as she climbed into the truck, closing the door behind her. Grace was right. It took less than ten minutes to get to the hardware store. "This way," said Grace, gesturing to the yard between the two nearby houses.

As they approached the building, the feeling of uneasiness reappeared in the pit of Grace's stomach. She had no desire whatsoever to go back into that building, but she didn't think they really had a choice. Once again, the door to the building was unlocked, which surprised Jill quite a bit. The interior of the building looked exactly the same as when Grace had seen it previously. However, everything was now covered with a thin layer of dust. It seemed as though no one had been inside for quite some time. While Grace debated where to begin, Jill strode across the room to a desk and began looking through its contents in search of anything useful. She wasn't entirely sure what would constitute 'useful,' but she knew they had to try. In the bottom drawer, she found a piece of paper with a line graph printed on it. There were numbers all over the graph, but there were no words present. Therefore, Jill had no idea what the graph was referring to. She decided to show it to Grace anyway.

"Can you make heads or tails of this?" Grace asked. Jill shook her head. "All I found was a broken stapler, a coffee mug, and a half empty pack of cigarettes. Is that graph all you found?" An exasperated sigh escaped Jill's lips as she nodded.

They searched for another hour before leaving. All they'd found was another line graph similar to the first one. The second graph, however, was titled 'Test Group Alpha 2.' Aside from that, there were no words on he page. Jill and Grace both wondered what 'Test Group Alpha 2' had been, and what had become of them.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way back to the truck. It wasn't until they reached the police station that Jill spoke.

"I want to talk to Billy Upchurch's daughter." Grace frowned.

"Chris and I already talked to her. She is a traumatised four-year-old who witnessed her mother being abducted. She doesn't need to be any more upset than she already is," said Grace.

"I understand that, but I know how to handle talking to traumatised children," Jill replied, allowing her lips to settle into a scowl.

"Fine. But I'm going with you."  
>"Whatever."<p>

"Get back in the truck. I'll drive. It's too far to walk."

Billy frowned slightly when he opened the door to find Grace and Jill on his stoop. The frown was only visible for a few seconds before he forced himself to relax his face.

"What can I do for you, Grace?" he asked curtly.

"First off," Grace began. "Billy, this is Jill. She's helping in the case too." She said, intentionally leaving out any information concerning Chris' disappearance. "Secondly, we need to talk to Laney again." Billy's frown reappeared.

"She already told you everything she knows," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"I know that, but we're trying to go back over everything, in case we missed something."

"Fine, but when she doesn't want to talk anymore, that's it." Grace nodded.

"Understood," she said. "We're not here to cause any trouble. All we want to do is find answers."

"I know that, but she's my daughter." Billy paused for a moment. "Come take a seat in the living room and I'll go get her." He stepped aside to allow Grace and Jill to walk past him into the house. Grace took off her sunglasses and tucked them into the collar of her shirt. A feeling of awkwardness crept up on Jill, but she did her best to push it to the back of her mind. She sighed and turned to follow Grace into the living room before sitting down on the couch. Honestly, she had no idea what, exactly, she would say to the girl, and hoped Grace would be able to explain the situation. Thankfully, it wasn't long before Billy reappeared, with Laney trailing behind him. Her blond hair was tied back with a piece of pink ribbon and her lips were set in a pout. "Honey," Billy began. "Grace brought a friend with her, and they want to talk to you." A slight smile spread across the girl's face.

"Is it Chris?" she asked, peering over at Grace. Billy shook his head.

"I'll let her explain." Laney toddled across the room and wrapped her arms around Grace.

"What happened to Chris?" she asked.

"Well," Grace began. "This is Jill. She's Chris' friend too. We're all still trying to find out what happened to your Mama, and we need your help again."

"I told you everything already," the girl said.

"I know that, but Jill needs to know too. And we're going back and looking at everything again, just to make sure we didn't miss anything. Every little piece is important. Do you understand that?" Grace asked. Laney nodded, and then began to explain her part of the story again. When she got to the part about the picture, Jill interrupted her.

"What did the thing look like?" Jill asked.

"Didn't Grace show you my picture?"

"She did, but I want you to tell me what it looked like."

"Well, like in the picture, it was black and yellow, but the black part was swooshy, like a dress."

"A dress?"

"Yeah. A long one."

_A long black dress?_ Jill thought. _That's weird. Is it possible we're looking for a woman?_ For all they knew, it was entirely possible that the person they were looking for was a woman. However, Jill had a hunch that it wasn't. She couldn't really put her finger on it, but for some reason, she didn't think they were looking for a woman. There had to be some other explanation. There just had to be. She just hoped they'd be able to find it. She needed to think. It wasn't too much longer before Laney turned to her father.

"I don't want to talk anymore," she said.

"I think it's time we left anyway," said Grace, not giving Billy a chance to say anything. "I'm sure we can find our own way out." She turned to Laney. "Thanks for your help." And without another word, she headed for the front door, not even waiting for Jill to get up from the couch. Jill wondered if she was always like that. She rolled her eyes as she climbed into the passenger seat and waited for Grace to say something.

"What was that about?" Jill asked.

"What was what about?"

"Just getting up and leaving in a huff."

"She said she didn't want to talk anymore."

"That's beside the point and you know it." Grace sighed.

"Billy was giving me the evil eye, and I knew we wouldn't get any more information from Laney, especially if her father threw one of his hissy fits."

"He didn't really strike me as the type to throw hissy fits."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. He is. Very much so." Jill frowned.

:"I need time to think," she said. "I know we don't have all the time in the world, but I need time to process everything."

"Do you need to sleep, or what?"

"Nah, just a quiet corner to sit and try to put things together. And maybe some coffee." Grace smiled slightly.

"That can be done."

**- To be continued.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

When Katie woke up, she had no idea where she was. She remembered locking up the police station and heading to her car, but she didn't remember getting home. She shut her eyes and rubbed the heels of her hands against her closed lids, and tried to keep a handle on the feeling of panic rising in her chest. She knew that letting her fear get the better of her would get her nowhere, but it was getting harder for her to keep her mind clear. Taking a deep breath, Katie sat up and looked around. The room she was in was some sort of laboratory or medical facility. Upon closer examination, she noticed that she wasn't alone. She got up from the gurney she'd been lying on, and started across the room. She crept closer to the person on the other side of the room without really thinking about whether it was actually a good idea. She looked down at the person in the bed and she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Chris?" she breathed. But there he was, fast asleep in this strange place. She didn't know whether his presence made her feel better or worse about her current situation. His presence made her feel a bit more secure, since he was somewhat familiar. However, it also made everything that much more bizarre. What was he doing there? What was she doing there? She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and a feeling she didn't want to know. Then it occurred to her that whomever had taken her could easily have killed her already, if that was their intention. She figured they must have something else in mind. She wanted Chris to get up, so she could feel a little less alone, but she didn't want to be the one to wake him. She sat back down on the gurney and ran her fingers through her hair. Although she was glad she wasn't completely alone, the feeling of fear was creeping up on her again. _Wake up soon, please…_she thought. She didn't really know what good it would do for Chris to be awake, but she figured it would make her feel better, especially since he might have some semblance of an idea about what the hell was going on.

A few minutes later, Chris woke up. He immediately felt that there was someone else in the room with him. It couldn't be Wesker, because Wesker wouldn't have let him sleep. He rolled over and sat up, and was barely able to keep his jaw from dropping.

"Katie?" he asked. She looked up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Or, rather, what are we doing here?" she replied.

"I wish I knew. To be honest, I don't even know where 'here' is," said Chris. Katie frowned.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, the lack of windows leads me to believe we're underground, but, for all I know, we could be underneath Saskatchewan," Chris told her. That made her laugh a little, even though it could very well be true.

"How did we get here, then?"

"That I can probably answer. I mean, I know how I got here, and you probably got here the same way. I was kidnapped by a man named Albert Wesker. There's a pretty good chance you were too. And I'm pretty sure he's involved with the deaths I originally came to investigate."

"You really think so? Who is this guy anyway?" Chris sighed. He knew she was going to ask that at some point, and he debated how much he wanted to tell her. Eventually, he told her that Wesker was a sociopath bent on global conquest, with almost the means to achieve it. Inwardly, Chris wondered why Wesker had taken Katie, and if she had been infected too. "When you woke up," Chris began. "Did your side hurt?" Katie stopped for a moment and thought about it. It wasn't until then that she realised it, yes, her side did hurt. She looked at the floor.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Shit. That means you're infected too…"

"Infected?" she asked, a note of panic present in her voice. "Infected with what?"

"I don't really know. Whatever it is, I think it allows Wesker to control people's bodies, but leaving their minds intact."

"What good would that do him?"

"Enough for him, I suppose. The stuff doesn't fade. I was his first guinea pig, six months ago, and it's still in my system."

"Why did he infect you six months ago and then let you go again?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out," said Chris. Just then, Katie sprang up from the gurney and launched herself across the room, locking her hands around his throat. Chris was taken aback, and simply stood there for a few seconds as Katie pressed down on his Adam's apple with her thumbs. Her eyes were wide with terror, and Chris knew that Wesker was controlling her. He broke her hold on his throat as gently as he could and put her in an arm bar until she stopped thrashing. When he let go of her, she sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands. He could hear her sobbing faintly as she drew her knees to her chest.

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered. Chris suddenly felt awkward, and he couldn't really decide what to do. After a few more seconds, he knelt down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"It's not your fault," Chris told her. "It's Wesker. I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to make you kill me. I think he was testing you, to make sure the virus… 'took,' I guess," he continued, making quotation marks with his fingers. While Chris had intended to make Katie feel better, his words only made her cry harder.

"I could have killed you," she sobbed. "I didn't want to… I guess it worked then…" Then she swung her left elbow back, catching Chris square in the solar plexus. She gasped and scrambled away from him. "No!" she shouted, looking around the room for a camera or something of that nature. "I won't!" Her hands curled into fists and she drew her knees to her chest again. Chris' eyes widened. Was Katie really able to resist Wesker's control of the virus inside her? It seemed like it. He wondered why she seemed to be able to when he could not. Now wasn't the time to ponder the possibilities, however.

"Wesker!" Chris snarled. "Leave her the fuck alone! She doesn't have anything to do with this!" He looked over at Katie, and it seemed as though Wesker was still trying to control her. She gritted her teeth and wished she could disappear, but at least she was resisting the massive impulse she felt telling her to hurt Chris. She didn't know how, but she was.

Neither of them noticed when the door slid open. When Chris heard the footsteps, he didn't have to turn around to know it was Wesker. By then, Katie had managed to make her way back across the room towards the gurney. All of a sudden, the impulse disappeared, and she hugged her knees again. Wesker strode to the center of the room and stared down at her. She scrambled to her feet and backed away from Wesker. She didn't know who he was, but somehow, she knew she wanted nothing to do with him. He took a step closer to her, and Chris spoke up.

"Wesker, leave her out of this. I'm serious," said Chris. Wesker smirked.

"You're 'serious'?" Wesker asked. "What makes you think you have a say in this situation?" Wesker pulled his electronic device out of his pocket, and Katie felt another massive urge to lock her hands around Chris' throat, but she folded her arms and gritted her teeth, glaring at Wesker. He stared at her for a few seconds before pressing a few buttons on the device. Nothing happened, and a frown spread across his lips. Without another word, he swiftly whipped out a shiny silver Desert Eagle, leveled it, and pulled the trigger. The sound of a gunshot rang out, and Katie slumped to the floor. She was dead, quite obviously from the single perfect gunshot wound Wesker had put in her left temple. He pulled the device out of his pocket again and pressed a few buttons. Chris' jaw dropped, and he gaped at Wesker. A few seconds later, two men in white lab coats came into the room. They picked Katie up, placed her on the gurney, and carted her away. Wesker looked over at Chris.

"You-" Chris began.

"Have to find out what went wrong with the virus," Wesker said, as if that explained everything. Chris launched himself at Wesker, smirking as his right fist connected with the side of the blonde's jaw. The smirk quickly gave way to a wince as he felt Wesker's knuckles collide with his chin, bloodying his lip. In one swift motion, Wesker had grabbed a hold of both of Chris' wrists, and Chris tried very hard not to think about the way Wesker was pressed up against him. He fought hard against the sudden massive urge he had to lean forward. Wesker's mouth was so close to his own, but he couldn't bring himself to close the distance. He wanted to. He really did, but part of him couldn't get past the idea that Wesker was supposed to be dead. Wesker was supposed to be dead, and yet, he wasn't. He'd somehow escaped again, and Chris wasn't about to ask how. He sighed and wondered if Wesker would always have this sort of an effect on him. He knew that Wesker would never close the distance between their mouths, so if he wanted it to happen, he'd have to do it himself. Chris sighed again as he finally gave in and leaned forward, hesitantly brushing his lips against Wesker's. Wesker stiffened slightly, surprised, but didn't say anything. He reached up and wiped the blood off of Chris' lip with his thumb. Chris took the motion as a green light, and he shut his eyes as he moved to kiss Wesker again. His conscience was asking him what, exactly, he thought he was doing, but he ignored it and parted his lips as Wesker kissed him back. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the situation brought him some weird sense of nostalgia.

Wesker was trying very hard not to smirk as he kissed Chris' lower lip before sliding his tongue into the younger man's mouth again. He'd had some inkling that Chris still felt something for him, and this proved it. He let go of Chris' wrists and placed his hands on the brunette's hips. Chris' motions were tentative, as if he were afraid.

_Good,_ Wesker thought. You_ should be._ He wouldn't do anything drastic, yet. For now, he was just going to see where the current situation would go. Chris reached up to wrap his arms around Wesker's neck, surprising the older man a little bit. He felt a sudden urge to put his lips to Wesker's pale throat. But right then, he didn't want to move beyond simply kissing him on the lips for the time being.

The last time they had been together was six months ago, and the time that had passed mixed with Wesker's supposed death made Chris even more uneasy. However, he pushed the thought from his mind and focused on the feeling of Wesker's lips against his own. Wesker leaned back slightly to nip at Chris' lower lip before stepping away.

"Enough for now, Christopher," he said. "There are things I have to do." And with that, he pecked Chris on the lips once more, and turned to leave the room, without another word.

Chris padded over the the bed and flopped down on it, closing his eyes. He tried to get his brain to process what had just happened. He'd woken up to see Katie in the same room as him, and she'd tried to kill him, thanks to Wesker. She refused to kill him, so Wesker killed her. Then he'd kissed Wesker.

_Yup,_ Chris thought. _That pretty much sums it up._ The whole things just went to reinforce his need to find an answer to his current predicament. Now that he knew Wesker was alive, Chris felt like he'd failed in Kijuju. He was supposed to kill Wesker, and he thought he'd succeeded, but no, Wesker had come back from the dead, again, and he was screwing up Chris' life, again. Then a thought popped into his mind about the way it felt to kiss Wesker, after all that time. He shook his head side to side. Thinking about that would do him no good. Right as he was convincing himself he didn't want to think about Wesker, he felt the virus take control of his limbs again. He stood up and headed for the door, once again surprised to find it unlocked. _Ugh, again?_ he thought, as he left the room and walked down the hallway. He didn't bother wondering where he was going. Wherever he was going, it was highly likely that Wesker was there. He soon found himself in the room with the computer monitors in which he'd first discovered that Wesker was alive.

"Oh, good," Wesker began. "You're here." Chris rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I had a choice." A quiet sort of chuckle escaped Wesker's lips.

"Now that the virus is working in you the way it's supposed to, you're going to do something for me."

**- To be continued.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** **I don't own Chris and I don't own Resident Evil, because if I did, things would be different; the plot, however, is all mine. I'm writing this for fun, and I'm not profiting from it at all, etc. etc. ad nauseam. The things that are in italics are thoughts. Please note that this story has nothing to do with the Robin Williams movie, I've merely borrowed the title.**

Jill woke up the next morning feeling even more defeated and discouraged than she had the previous day. They were no closer to finding Chris, or anything else for that matter. Sitting up in bed, she made the decision that she didn't really feel like calling Grace. She wanted to just talk to people herself and see if she could get any information that way. She's studied both line graphs intently, more than once, but had gotten nothing from them. She sighed as she got up from the bed and changed out of her pajamas. Her cell phone was on the table and she debated for a moment before picking it up and sliding it into her pocket. She didn't really want to talk to anyone, but she decided she'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it. Honestly, she had no idea where to start, but the sooner she found Chris, and the sooner they got to the bottom of this whole situation, the better off everyone would be.

About a half hour later, Jill had found her way into the center of town. A headache was starting to gnaw at the top of her skull, and she realised she hadn't eaten since breakfast the previous day. After a few moments' deliberation, she headed down the sidewalk and into the diner at the end of the street. She didn't really want to take the time, but she knew not eating wasn't a good alternative. Plunking herself down at the counter, Jill asked a nearby waitress for a menu, and perused it for a few moments before deciding on something. She realised she was hungrier than she thought as she practically inhaled her food. She stood up, tipped her waitress, and paid for her food before heading back outside. The next course of action wasn't really clear to her, and she just sort of wandered along Main Street. She was pondering what she should do next when she spotted someone walking across the street somewhere ahead of her. She stopped walking and simply stared at the person for a moment. Then her brain caught up with her eyes.

"Hey, Chris!" she called. He neither stopped, nor turned around. She wondered momentarily whether it was actually him. _It has to be. It just __has__ to,_ Jill thought to herself. She hurried across the street and tried to follow him. "Chris, wait!" He broke into a run, and she did her best to follow. His legs were longer, putting her at a disadvantage. She considered calling out to him again, but decided against it. She noticed they were now heading towards the outskirts of town, and wondered what the hell was going on, but she figured she would have to catch up to Chris before she could find out. She'd been out of breath for quite some time now, and she was starting to feel a stitch in her side, but she needed to keep going. After several more minutes, they had reached the hardware store, and Chris was heading towards the woods. _Is he… No…_ she thought. She'd had a feeling earlier that the building in the woods was connected, and now she had a feeling that that was where he was headed.

Jill was right. She tried to keep from tripping over tree roots as she followed Chris through the woods. It was then that she really wished she had a gun. She hadn't brought one with her, as she wasn't supposed to have gotten directly involved in the situation. The building materialised in front of her just in time for Chris to enter the building and close the door, locking it behind him.

_Shit,_ she thought to herself. She put her ear to the door and tried to listen for anything that might be on the other side. She heard nothing, so she took a couple steps back, and kicked the door in. Once she was inside, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. The motion had come from the center of the room. It seemed as though the center of the room split to reveal a way down to whatever lay beneath the building. She was determined to find a way to open the floor. However, she knew it would be stupid to go alone, so she decided to get in touch with Grace. She sighed, not relishing the idea of walking all the way back to the police station. Maybe Grace would come and meet her if she explained the situation. Jill fished her cell phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts to Grace's number, and pressed the send button. She held the phone up to her ear with one hand and stuck the other hand in her pocket, trying not to acknowledge the feeling of impatience she felt growing inside her. _ Come on, pick up the phone…_ Jill thought. Grace picked up on the fourth ring.

"Jill?" she asked. "Where the hell are you?"

"Come down to the hardware store and I'll explain," Jill replied.

"The hardware st… What are you doing down there?"

"I'll explain when you get here." Grace sighed.

"Fine. I'll see you in ten." Grace hung up without another word and headed out to her truck. She really was curious about what Jill was going to tell her. She just hoped it was something useful.

Jill exited the building and walked through the woods back to the hardware store. She was standing in the parking lot for less than two minutes before Grace showed up. A chunk of her hair had fallen out of her ponytail, so she tucked it behind her ear. Whatever had caused her hair to lighten hadn't been permanent, so it had gone back to its original brown.

As soon as Grace shifted the truck into park, Jill strode across the asphalt to meet her. She resisted the sudden urge she had to put her hands on her hips. Grace got out of the truck and looked at Jill without saying a word. She raised her eyebrows.

"I saw Chris," said Jill.

"…What?" Grace asked, as her eyes widened slightly.

"I was talking through town and I saw him. I called out to him, but he turned and ran all the way back to that building in the woods, and I followed him, and-"

"Wait, the two of you ran all the way there?" Jill nodded. "And then what?"

"He entered the building and locked the door behind him, so I kicked the door in. It seems the floor opens up to provide access to whatever seems to exist beneath the building. Apparently, there is something down there. I figured I should call you before trying to get in, rather than go by myself unarmed." Grace nodded.

"You're going to need a gun, and I think I'd like to bring along a bigger gun…" Without another word, she got back into the truck and waited for Jill to follow her. The ride back to the police station felt like it took a lot longer than it actually did, and Jill was anxious to find out what existed beneath the building. Once they were back at the police station, Jill followed Grace to the arms room.

"Maybe we'll find out where Katie is," Grace said, examining a shotgun.

"What do you mean?"

"She's gone. No one knows where she is…" she continued. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on top of her head before rubbing her eyes.

Jill scanned the arms room and tried to decide what would be best to take with her. She would be allowed one to two things, tops. She took the holster Grace handed her and affixed it to her belt before choosing a handgun and sliding it into the holster. A few extra magazines were stuck into one of her pockets. Grace had chosen a similar handgun and a pump-action shotgun. Jill wondered if she should take something else as well, but decided she would rather travel light.

Jill's heart was pounding in her ears by the time they were back in the parking lot next to the hardware store. At least she knew Chris was alive. However, that didn't stop her from worrying about him. She still had no idea what they were up against, so that factored in as well. She wondered whether they would be able to open the floor, and hoped they could figure out how to do so.

The door was still ajar from Jill's earlier actions, and she pursed her lips as she nudged the door open. Even more dust had settled on the contents of the room since Grace and Jill had been there last. Jill tried to imagine where someone would hide the controls to a trapdoor, and came up with nothing. She knelt down and studied the floor underneath the table in the center of the room.

_There!_ Jill thought. There was a barely noticeable seam in the floor. The table was sitting right on top of it and she wondered how, exactly, that worked. "Grace," said Jill. "I found something." Grace strode across the room and lowered herself to the floor next to Jill.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Look at this," said Jill, pointing to the seam in the floor. "Now we know where the trapdoor is. We just need to figure out how to get it open. Maybe the table…" They both stood up and started examining the table. Several minutes later, Jill found something. "Check out the place where this leg is attached to the table." Grace looked at it.

"What about it?"

"There are three screws. All the others only have two." She peered at the screws, and then prodded the middle one, as if it were a button. Nothing happened.

"Try twisting it," Grace suggested, pushing her sunglasses further up the bridge of her nose. Jill twisted the screw between her thumb and forefinger, and jerked back as the two halves of the floor started to separate. A few seconds later, the two pieces of the floor had parted to reveal a spiral staircase leading down into darkness. "I'll go first, I guess," said Grace, swinging her legs over the edge o the floor and starting down the stairs. After she'd gone down a few steps, a set of fluorescent light bulbs flickered on, flooding the area with light. Jill started down the steps after Grace had gone down a few more.

The staircase was longer than either of them had expected. Jill wondered why the stairs were there, and not an elevator. As soon as the thought crossed Jill's mind Grace reached the bottom of the staircase. Grace and Jill crept across the room, trying to make as little noise as possible, and looking around for any potential threats. The doors at the other end of the room were held together by a heavy padlock. Jill leaned down and examined it.

"If I had some lock picking tools, I could open this," said Jill, gesturing to the lock.

"Damn, I know Bernie confiscated a set of lock picking tools from some teenager two weeks ago. I'll see if it's still in his desk. We'll have to go back outside." Jill nodded, and started for the staircase. Once they were back outside, Grace phoned Bernie and asked about the tools. Luckily, they were still in his desk. "I think it'll be quicker if I just go," said Grace. "You stay here." Jill really didn't want to stay, but decided not to argue.

Jill was grateful that it didn't take very long for Grace to return with the lock picking tools. They'd left the floor open to make life a little simpler, although in retrospect, it might not have been such a good idea. There was an unpleasant gnawing sensation in the pit of Jill's stomach, and she drew her gun as she made her way down the stairs behind Grace. As she approached the door, Jill realised that she would have to re-holster her gun to pick the lock. It wouldn't take long. Picking locks was something she was good at. A few minutes later, the lock clicked open, and Jill tucked the lock picking tools into her pocket before drawing her gun again. She nodded to Grace, who followed suit, stepping closer to the doors in the process.

As she reached out to open one of the doors with her left hand, Jill tried very hard to keep her right hand from shaking. The door opened, and she found herself face-to-face with Wesker. A smirk spread slowly across his lips as her jaw dropped.

"I was wondering when you were going to join us, Ms. Valentine."

**- To be continued.**


End file.
